


hope

by seimaisin



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: “Do you hear me, Sarenrae? This is my sacrifice. My hope for his life. Take it.”

In which Percy hears the impossible, and Pike gets what she sacrificed back with interest.





	hope

He’s not sure how he hears it, or how he knows it isn’t a hallucination brought on by death. (His own death, felled by necrotic magic, feeling his life essence slip away … his only thought at the time is “I wish I’d had the time to be better” before everything ends.) He only knows, when he wakes up on the cold, wet ground, that he can hear her whisper in his ear.

_“I love you.” Pike’s voice is steady, but there’s an undertone of panic. “I have for a while now. And I will sacrifice any future hope of having that love returned if you will only just come back, Percy.” She pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is louder, pitched to carry farther than just the two of them. “Do you hear me, Sarenrae? This is my sacrifice. My hope for his life. Take it.”_

When he wakes, Percy sees Pike leaning over him. Her eyes are wet, and her hand grips her holy symbol so hard that he expects she’ll have an impression of it in her palm for a while yet. “Welcome back,” she says, and her voice only holds the slightest tremble. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“I’ll …” Percy winces, the magic backlash flooding into his head all at once. “I’ll try.”

And then life begins again around him. Everyone else crowds in; Pike orders Grog to carry Percy into Scanlan’s mansion, over Percy’s protests. Their voices all blend into one another, a cacophony that is both painful and precious, especially after the chilling silence of death. But once Grog deposits him in his room, Pike orders everyone to leave. She kneels on the bed beside him, and inspects his face carefully. “I think you’ll be okay,” she says. “You just need a lot of sleep.”

“I don’t think we have the luxury of time right now,” he says.

“We’ll find the time.” Pike pats his cheek. “The world will wait for a half a day while you sleep.”

Percy brings his hand up to hold hers to his cheek - it’s an automatic thing, a desperate need to keep her warmth, her vitality, with him just a moment longer. Pike freezes. Her whisper echoes through his mind, words he can only barely comprehend right now. When he lets go, she pulls back and flexes her fingers, looking away from his face. “Thank you,” is all he can say. 

“This is what I’m here for.” A small smile crosses her face, but she still doesn’t look him in the eye. His mind is a jumble of thoughts, of things he needs to say to her, but before he can untangle any of them, she’s gone from the room. 

Life goes on. Percy gets better; Vox Machina soldiers on, risking their lives, but not losing any of them again, thank all the gods. Pike returns to Whitestone, and Percy feels her absence even more than usual. There’s a spark of warmth inside his chest, something new and unfamiliar, something that makes the typically icy terror in the pit of his stomach just a little easier to deal with. It’s weird. It’s a fragile thing, but Percy guards it carefully. 

Pike meets them in Vasselheim, partly to check on her temple. When the group separates for an afternoon off, Percy wanders in the direction of the Temple of Sarenrae. It’s a much different experience than his last trip to a temple here; there’s no blood, for one. It’s bright and open, and when he crosses the threshold, Percy feels that spark flare into a tiny flame that seems to burn inside his chest. Pike is nowhere to be found, so he walks toward the shrine and sits on one of the wooden benches next to it. “I’m not yours,” he murmurs to the stone goddess before him. “I’m not nearly good enough to be yours. Nor am I good enough to be hers. But she is …” He pauses, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. “She is a reason to make myself better.”

“Percy?” Pike’s voice echoes through the open chamber. 

He turns in his seat and watches her walk up to him. “I thought … I thought I might owe her my thanks.” He gestures to the shrine.

Pike’s smile is like the sun - not the blazing midday sun, but the sunlight of dawn, soft and welcoming. It is, Percy thinks, perhaps the light of a new start. She sits next to him. “She doesn’t do things for the gratitude, but I think she appreciates it all the same.”

“I hope she appreciates the woman who champions her, as well.” He looks sideways at Pike. “You are the best possible ambassador of her energy.”

She blushes. “I don’t know about that. I just do my best.”

The next words stick in Percy’s throat, but a glance at the goddess in front of him gives him enough courage to start. “Pike, I … when I was, well, dead, I heard you. When you talked about … sacrifice. And love.”

She stills, the blush spreading across her face. “Oh.”

“I don’t know how I heard it, or how I knew it was real. I just … when I woke up, I knew.”

Pike looks down at her lap, where her hands are clasped together. “You don’t have to say anything, Percy. I know you don’t feel the same way. I’ve always known.”

“Well, if you know that for sure,” Percy says dryly, “you know my mind better than I do. Because I’m not sure of that at all.” When she looks up at him, he takes a deep breath. “Love has never been my strong suit. When I was younger, I took it for granted. And more recently … I’ve been convinced that my love is a terrible, warped thing, a burden that no one deserves. Especially not you.”

“Especially me?”

“You’re the best of us, Pike. You’re so much better-”

“That’s bullshit.” She finally looks up at him, her eyes flashing with unexpected anger. “I’m not better. I’m not some kind of untouchable angel, or whatever it is all of you think I am sometimes. I’m just a woman. I hurt, I make mistakes, and I want the same things any other regular mortal person wants. And I don’t want your pedestal, or your pity.”

Percy blinks. “I’ll cop to the pedestal, and apologize for it, but my feelings for you are about as far from pity as they could possibly be.” On a whim, he reaches over and gingerly rests his hand over hers. He hears her sharp indrawn breath at the contact. “Like I said, I’ve never been very good at love. I’m pretty terrible at recognizing it, either in myself or in someone else. And I certainly have no idea what to do with it. But just knowing that you think I’m worthy …” 

“Percy.” Pike turns her hand over and twines her fingers in his. “Love isn’t about being worthy. It’s not something you have to earn. You’ve always deserved love, no matter what’s happened. You always have, and you always will.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. But,” he says, before she can open her mouth, “I’m trying.”

She squeezes his hand. “Keep trying.”

“And I’m trying to sort out my own feelings. It’s starting to occur to me that my problem is maybe not that I don’t love, but that I love too much. It hurts. It’s such a mess inside of me.” He looks up at the statue of Sarenrae. “Another goddess once told me that I’m broken, and always have been. Whatever love I have exists somewhere in between the places I can’t put back together.”

When he looks back at Pike, there’s anger in her gaze again. “That particular goddess has a lot to answer for,” she says. “She may be right, but she only uses the context that suits her. The thing is, Percy, we’re all broken. I certainly am. I feel all those sharp edges and broken pieces inside of me too. I’m scared and I’m lonely and I’m always afraid that one day none of you will need me any more. Or maybe you won’t even want me. And maybe I’ll always have Sarenrae, but as much as I love her, she’s cold comfort without the people I love.” 

It’s Percy’s turn to squeeze her hand. “That will never happen.”

“How do I know? See,” she says, giving him a small, sad smile, “you’re not the only one who has to actively try to believe you deserve to be loved.”

“If you’ll keep trying, so will I.”

“It’s a deal.” 

After a moment, Percy brings their entwined hands up. Slowly - carefully - he places a light kiss on the back of Pike’s hand. He lets his lips linger, and the tiny flame inside of him burns a bit brighter when he sees her blush deepen. “I don’t yet know precisely what shape my love for you takes,” he confesses. “But I do know that just the knowledge that you love me has given me .... hope. And hope isn’t something I’ve had much of in recent years.”

“Hope is good,” she says softly. 

“And honestly, no matter what you said you’d sacrifice, I don’t see Sarenrae being the type of lady to take hope away from you. If anything,” he adds, “perhaps she gave some of your hope to me.”

“Maybe.” Pike smiles up at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. “She’s certainly good at giving me what I need, whether or not I know I need it.”

“I’ve never been good at placing my faith in gods, but my faith in you has never wavered.”

At that, a tear slips down Pike’s cheek. “I love you, Percy. It doesn’t matter if you love me the same way I love you.”

“It matters to me. And I have hope. I just need to figure myself out a bit.”

“Don’t we all.” Pike tugs their entwined hands over, and kisses the back of his hand. Percy feels a jolt of warmth dance up his skin. “Whenever you’re ready, one way or another, I’ll be here.”

“I know.”

They sit there for a while, hands clasped between them. When he looks back up at the statue of Sarenrae, Percy could almost swear that she winks at him. It’s the afternoon sun in his eyes, clearly, but he smiles at her all the same.


End file.
